That One Time I Died

Weeping endures for a night, yet no joy comes within the mo(u)rning

After Robin's parents finished speaking in low voices, his father turned to me and, not unkindly, asked

"Rosalie, can you tell us what happened?" 

"I was walking home through the woods, on the path near the cliffs. Robin was a few minutes in front of me because... Well, we had an argument. And then suddenly, there was an avalanche. I almost got swept away and on my way back, Robin was nowhere to be found." I heard myself recite, the people in front of me still fading in and out of focus. 

Robin's father just nodded and walked outside of the room, calmly. Maybe he hadn't realized that closing the door wouldn't magically hide his long breaths turning into sobs, or his quick footsteps which were quickly transformed into a run.  

I wished I could cry too, or scream, or anything. Anything would be better than the empty numbness I felt. 

"I'll go home now." I told his mother, not really paying attention to what I was saying. I just wanted to be alone. She didn't try to stop me, so I stumbled out of the room, vaguely remembering my coat was hanging somewhere on my left. Just as I was about to open the front door, it was gruffly pushed open, nearly hitting me in the head. I fell backwards, landing on a pair of old, rather disgusting boots. 

The person responsible for that accident was tall, wide, middle-aged woman with short black hair spiking in almost every direction - my mother. She looked down at my unfortunate position and the even more unfortunate shoes beneath me. Without much consideration, she grabbed my hand, pulled me back up on my feet and ushered me back in while loudly whispering,

"Your father has told me all about the situation. He's helping search for Robin." 

As soon as I reentered the room where Robin's mother was pacing around, my mom immediately let go of me and rushed over to her, consolations on her lips and tears in her eyes. 

I stood still in the corner, watching the two women's troubled exchange. 

"Lisa, dear, they'll find him, you'll see. He'll be fine, he'll be fine. Come now, let's pray. The Ghost of Frost will help the men searching, you'll see-" 

Feeling like I was intruding their moment, I turned around, making my way towards the door with blurry eyes. I was just about to exit the room again, but then, unexpectedly my mother called after me. 

"Rosalie, come and pray with us. You of all people should be the one praying the most for his safety." 

Slightly startled, I made my way towards them and knelt next to my mother. In my secret heart of hearts, I had started to become rather skeptical of the gods' involvement in our mortal lives, but at that specific moment I was desperate for any kind of divine reassurance. 

I closed my eyes and tightly clasped my hands, just as I used to when I was a kid. As the three of us knelt on the floor in complete silence, save for Robin's mother's muffled sobs, I started praying. I didn't have the courage to do it out loud, but my mother had always told me that the gods could hear my prayers no matter how they were expressed. 

"Please, please, please, if you can hear me, please, help them find him." I whispered in my mind, over and over again. 

And for a long time it was just that. The heavy silence of the room, the self-imposed darkness of my shut eyes and the endless repetition. 

"Please, please, please, if you can hear me, please, help them find him."

I felt so helpless, yet according to my mother, this was the only thing I could do to help. So I did it. Did it with all my might, heart body and soul. I fiercely blocked out any distractions that made me not fully commit to my prayer. 

I hadn't even realized how damp the area around my eyes had become, until a loud noise coming from the door forced me to open them. 

For a second, my heart was lifted up by hope. He was found! The wait was over, everything was okay! The previous issue of our difference in feelings seemed so insignificant it could almost be completely forgotten. I felt euphoric to the point where I thought I would burst from the sheer amount of happiness contained within me. It made me feel like I could fly, dance and sing for joy, all at the same time. It made me feel like I had to - I almost couldn't contain myself. I could feel my soul soaring into the sky like a balloon, illuminated by a sunset of bright yellow, orange and pink, the beauty of the sky with outstretched hands, greeting the beauty of the land bellow. 

And then the balloon shattered. It shattered as soon as I saw my father's expression. As my eyes were getting adjusted to the dim light of the room, I realized that the sun had already long gone down. The search party had no hope of continuing.

As soon as she saw them, Robin's mother went into hysterics. She collapsed on the floor, shaking and crying uncontrollably, screaming something unintelligible. 

Even my mom didn't know how to act. She didn't go to comfort her friend or anyone else. She just stood there, tears streaming down her cheeks, silently sobbing as well. 

From behind the house, I could hear a man's voice, crazed with raw anger and desperation, screaming

"MY SON! NO MY SON! LET ME FIND MY SON! NO! LET GO OF ME! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" 

Then came the sound of fighting and a few seconds later a loud crash sent a tremor through the entire house.  

My father later told me that Robin's father had tried to fight off the men who held him back from rushing into the woods, with an almost savage, even primal ferocity that no one expected of him. At the time, I couldn't even imagine it - I couldn't believe that the gentle, kind and cheerful man I had almost grown up to see as a second dad was capable of being described in such a vicious way. 

Even my own dad, the man who I had never seen come remotely close to crying, had visible tear-stains, even with his foggy glasses on. 

The only person who seemed out of place in this picture of tragedy was me. As hard as I tried, I did not have a single tear to shed. Even while looking at his inconsolably devastated mother, remembering the cries of pure desperation and agony of his father, and everything else, I couldn't bring myself to cry. It almost felt like an intrusion - standing there, witnessing all of this go down, yet remaining seemingly unmoved by it all. 

That night, my mother stayed over at her friend's house, so that she could lend a hand to the suffering family. Me and my dad silently made our way back home. He was utterly exhausted from the search and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

The tears I wished for hadn't come when I felt that I needed them most, but now, in the starless solitude of my own room they seemed to overflow on their own. Everything was completely dark - the moon was overshadowed by clouds and the candles in my room had been long put out. I wrapped myself in a blanket, but I was still shivering. Or maybe I was just shaking from crying. I couldn't tell anymore. I wanted to tell myself that there was still a small sliver of hope remaining, but somehow I already knew the truth. I was never going to see my friend again. I hadn't even said goodbye properly. Had he left this world, fully believing that I was angry at him? If only I had done something. Maybe if I had prayed a little harder, or longer, the gods would've listened and helped the men to find him. 

I could see his house from my window. When we were little, we used to have a signaling system - we'd put candles on our windows, and whenever we had something important to say to each other, we'd block out the light with our hands to create flashes. 

Knowing that the familiar light in the window of his house would never shine again, or even worse, shine for someone else, hurt. It was going to be... so lonely now. The more I looked, the blurrier my vision became. I couldn't stop crying and it hurt. Even the mere memory of that night still holds a bitter sting. Yet, to an extent it was almost peaceful. 

Yet this melancholy peace met an abrupt end. A loudly obnoxious knock on the front door echoed through the silence. My heart gave a quick leap, as if it were still expecting the gods to bring the dead back to life. 

With shaky hands, I gently opened the door, making sure to not wake my father as I did so. 

The time of this late-night call should've been the first indicator that this was no ordinary visitor, but even if I had taken that into account, nothing could have prepared me for what, or rather, who I saw.